Qudditch League Fanfiction Competition
by Lighty7
Summary: Chaser 1, Wimborne Wasps. A series of one-shots used for the competition.
1. The Day Before Tomorrow

**.**

**Round 1: ****The Day Before Tomorrow**

**Wimborne Wasps, Chaser 1**

**2. (word) glitter**

**7. (word) tickle/ish**

**8. (phrase) Laughter is the best medicine**

* * *

Monica Granger sat on a chair in front of her wooden kitchen table. She thought the chair was quite comfortable, even if it was made of wood. She sighed quietly to herself. Today had been her day off work, and she had absolutely nothing to do.

She daydreamed softly, staring off into whatever space she laid her eyes on, which just so happened to be the plain, creme wall. A single painting with a splash of color hung on the wall, sparking life into the plain wall.

Monica had cleaned everything in the house to perfection, even the dusty old closet. All of the books she had were combed through down to the last sentence. Even her stack of movies seemed worn out. She sighed softly, closing her eyes for a moment, then leaned her brown head into the table. She reached for the blue mug that she knew was sitting on the kitchen table. It was sitting there with the drifting, floating, coffee aroma coming from the stationary, blue mug. Then something stopped her, and her eyes flew to the ticking wall clock. Her mouth curved into a smile.

A knock on the door signaled the coming home of her daughter, Hermione Granger. She practically ran past the living room, and down the hall to the door.

As she expected, when she opened it, her daughter, who had quite the head of hair, rushed into the room. What Monica Granger didn't expect was for her usually bright and happy daughter to burst out crying and run into her waiting arms.

"They were making fun of me again." Hermione said, crying quietly into Mrs. Granger's shoulder. Monica's eyes flared up, then softened. She knew that there was something... _strange_ about Hermione, but she expected people to be accepting. She sighed. She should have known better. Kids were brutal.

Monica Granger's daughter was something of a miracle. She was quite different than normal girls her age. Hermione could _do_ things. She could do things that were... quite strange to say the least. She could make things that normal people couldn't even imagine. One day when the family had gone camping last summer, Hermione had turned a single raindrop into a dragonfly. She possessed this beautiful magic that she took with her wherever she went. It was the most beautiful thing Monica had ever seen, and she absolutely adored it.

As if that wasn't enough, there was a reason why Hermione was an only child. Mrs. Granger had a negative blood type, and Mr. Granger had a positive one. Hermione's blood was positive, so any other child of theirs would have had the same. But after Monica's blood had recognized that the host possessed a different type of blood, her cells would have started attacking the baby. Thankfully, Hermione's blood wasn't recognized until after she was born, so she turned out fine. It just made her all the more special.

"Hermione, you can't believe what they say about you, sweetie," she said, Hermione's tearful eyes raising to look up at her, "You're just special, and sometimes people are afraid of special people."

"Why can't I be normal?" Hermione said quietly, watching her toes. Monica fumed. Being different was a blessing, not a curse.

"Hermione, look at me." she said. Her daughter quietly and sadly looked up at her mother.

"Normal people can't do wonderful things the way you can. They can't create things the way you do. You have a wonderful, beautiful gift. Don't you dare be ashamed of it." she said firmly, but softly. Hermione Granger looked up at her mother with shining eyes, even though they were a warm brown color. Then Monica smiled sweetly.

"Now what do you say we forget about this, huh?" she asked cheerfully, poking her daughter's stomach when she said the last world. Hermione giggled, nodding.

Then all of a sudden, Monica Granger attacked her daughter with light fingers, tickling her. Hermione squealed, escaping her mother's harmless attack.

She ran down the hall, white glitter raining down wherever she walked.

Monica laughed. Laughter, after all, was the best kind of medicine she could give her daughter.

She trailed after Hermione, slowly, carefully, following the trail of glitter. The hall was long, but she followed the glitter trail into the living room, which ran into the kitchen. The glitter, curious as it was, had only fallen into her footsteps. It hadn't left the shape of her foot on the carpet. Not a single sparkly thing was out of place. Monica rounded the corner into the kitchen, and she watched the glitter train fall into the cellar.

A faint giggling sound came from the cellar, and she opened the door to find... absolutely nothing but shelves and food. Frowning, Monica closed the door.

Her daughter had a way with hiding places. Giggling again came from the cellar, and she opened the door again. There she was! How could the non-magical mother have missed her?

Hermione leapt into her mother's arms happily, hugging her.

"Thanks for cheering me up." She said quietly. Monica was astounded. Hermione _was_ really bright. She smiled softly, wrapping her arms around her daughter with gentle arms.

And then there was the clicking of the mail slot, the rustling sound of letters sliding into the door. Both Monica and Hermione heard it, and they broke apart.

"You go wash up, and I'll go get the mail." Monica said, dreading the bills. Hermione, with her bouncy, brown curls, ran off to the washroom. Her mother chuckled, then walked off through the kitchen, through the living room, down the hall, and then finally to the door.

She bent down and grabbed the letters, quickly shuffling through them. She flipped past the dreaded bills and the junk mail.

Then an off white sealed letter with green ink caught her eye, and her eyes widened.

"Hermione!"


	2. Forgotten Happiness

**.**

**Round 2: Forgotton Happiness**

**Chaser 1**

**Person: George Weasley**

**Action: Grieve**

**3. (quote) "So many books, so little time." - Frank Zappa**

**13. (word) burying**

**14. (dialogue) "You don't tell me to relax."**

* * *

George Weasley was done with grief. He was _done_. After five months of nothing but crying and feeling depressed, he was done. He would go on with his life, however different it might be without his joyful brother by his side. He had been this way ever since before Fred was buried. When they were burying Fred, everything had felt ten times worse. He clenched his fists, feeling the tears start to seep in.

No! _No_! He was done crying! He was done grieving! He was _done_!

He immediately jumped out of his chair in his extremely successful business place, and thundered into the back room.

Unknown to George, Ron walked up to the door of Fr-... George's shop. He sighed. It would take a while to get used to not saying Fred's name. He peered through the eye-hole. It was empty, unimaginably quiet, and closed. He sighed for a minute, then slowly, sadly, grabbed the door and quietly pushed it open. The once lively shop was vacant, empty. Everything seemed to be grey and lifeless. He walked quietly into the shop that had once been beautiful and full of magic.

"George?" he called into the quiet room. There was a quiet, muffled sob coming from the back room. He sighed and walked onward, probably into an impending doom.

Was that Ron? George thought it was Ron. George also didn't necessarily want Ron's company. His eyes closed, and his heart clenched. He sat at his desk, then composed himself, concentrating himself on inventing something new.

Ron walked in the back room, holding a package. George first looked at Ron, then the package.

"Mum wanted me to give this to you," he said, handing George the package. George just looked at Ron, and Ron looked at George.

"I guess I'll be leaving then," Ron shrugged to himself, turning towards the door, but then turned to face George again.

"Maybe you should relax a little, stop worrying so much-"

"You don't tell me to relax, Ron," George said quietly, "because I can't. I've tried."

Ron nodded, then opened his mouth again to speak.

"If you can't relax, maybe you should start working on your shop again. It... makes people happy," he suggested. George looked at him, then nodded, not saying a word. Ron then turned and exited the shop, sighing and walking on his way.

George stared at the package in front of him for a few moments, not daring to touch it. It was wrapped with brown paper; string crisscrossed around it to keep it secure. It was lumpy and soft, like clothing. Perhaps that was what it was, but he didn't open it. He just stared.

Slowly, quietly, he stood up, still staring at the package. He didn't open it. He couldn't open it.

Then he looked around, examining his broken, quiet shop with new eyes. Someone had to do something. That someone might as well be George. Fred would want him to. And somehow, at that moment, it felt like Fred was there.

And then, all at once, for the first time in forever, he _moved_. He felt life just pour back into him, and he was sure Fred was the cause of it.

His brother was telling him to go on without him. And George reluctantly did. He started cleaning up, fixing things up, and pulling things out of the storage room.

Every once in a while, George would mutter to himself as he was going through his joke books, or going through the storage room, saying something along the lines of "So many books, so little time."

Hours passed, and hours might have stretched into days, but George couldn't tell. His shop was slowly looking like itself again, and so was George. A few tears fell down his cheeks once in a while, but a grin slowly seeped into his face, and then, slowly, carefully, a smile.

Then, finally, it was finished. His work was done. Things that had been broken were fixed, things that had fallen, picked up, and things that had been tucked away had had been put out in the open. Anything that looked even the slightest bit unhappy had been thrown into a box and cast aside. The room was magical again, moving, happy, and so was George. George was finally happy.

He plugged the power back in, and put a sign in front of the shop. It said something about a reopening. George didn't know, or care. He was in a happy haze. Then the people came again. They came, laughed, and played. This was what George had been missing. This was what made George happy. As long as his shop was happy, so was he.

Finally, the day was gone, and everyone left. George Weasley went back into the back room. He looked again at the brown package, and with a sad smile on his face, he took it into his hands, and gently pulled open the paper to reveal it's contents. Tears fell from his eyes, and his heart clenched around itself once again.

The next day, if you so happened to step onto the famous Diagon Alley, and if you happened to stumble into George Weasley's joke shop, when you first walked into the room, and if you so happened to look up, you would see two display frames hanging from the ceiling. The second one would house a red sweater with a G on it. The first would be almost identical to the second, but displaying a F.

In between the sweaters you would see an inscription hanging from the wall.

Weasley's Wizard Wheezes

_ In loving memory of Fred Weasley, who has taught us, in many more ways than one, to have fun and continue on._


	3. The Trail of Tears

**.**

**Round 3: The**** Trail of Tears**

******CHASER 1 - **conquering a land/nation

**Prompts:**

**2. (word) biting**

**7. (word) hardened**

**8: (word) family**

* * *

_**A/N: Based on a true story about a distant relative of mine. It's hard to believe that she went through all that when we are so privileged today.**_

* * *

Leotie sat next to her brother quietly. Her feet hurt and her tanned skin felt burnt. They had been walking for so long, and so slow, that her very existence felt strained. The spirits had abandoned them and the world was without color or light. They no longer danced in the rain or played in the cornfields. They no longer started fires or hunted deer or swam in the river. She missed her home. This terrible trail was the bane of her existence.

They stopped once in a while, but mostly they walked day and night. Three of her tribe members had already died. Three. The worst part was that Leotie couldn't use her magic. The spirits had bestowed onto her an incredible gift and she wasn't able to use it. She _wanted_ to use it, but it might get her killed, or worse, tortured. She couldn't control what she did half the time.

Sometimes, in secret, to make food bigger, she'd wave her hand around, and sometimes it would do the trick, and sometimes it wouldn't. It was the only thing keeping Leotie and her brother alive.

The children didn't get much food, and when they did it was stolen from them by bigger hands, needier stomachs. The English were taking over their land. They were going to kill all of them and Leotie knew it. She closed her eyes, holding her brother's hand closely, and she continued walking. Her friends, family... lost, and it had only been a week. Her brother was the only one left.

"_Lunch_, everyone!" a male voice shouted. Finally, lunch was here. A moment of rest. Just a moment. A man came up to her and her brother and threw two rolls of bread at her feet. She quickly snatched it up and hid it in her clothes, but it didn't stop the older man of the tribe from grabbing her hand and causing a roll to fall out.

"The old needs these more than the young," he said, and with that, the man walked away, leaving Leotie in tears again.

"Brother, come close," she told him with fear in her eyes. They only had one roll, which she quickly broke in half with her hardened, calloused hands. Her brother, still small, had yet to earn a name, so she called him "Brother," which had became his name. "Eat fast. They'll steal it if we don't."

Then Leotie did something miraculous with her hands. She waved a hand over the broken halves of the roll, which in turn, with a growth of small light, became two new rolls. Smiling, she handed one to her brother, who quickly scarfed his down. She did the same, just as fast, maybe faster. Then she saw the man from before, the man who had stolen her roll, talking pleadingly to the man who had given it to her. The man who had given her food was a honest looking man, but, at this moment, couldn't look farther from gentle.

With fiery eyes, the man who had stolen her food turned to Leotie's brother, pointing, and this time talking loud enough for her to hear tidbits.

"The youngling... stole my roll... punished."

At this point, Leotie's eyes widened, and she turn to her brother, grabbing his arm and pulling him out of their resting place and into the crowd. The trail had no name. But Leotie realized the trail was evil. It was terrible and cruel.

"Watch where you're running!"

"Ow!"

"Slow down."

But Leotie paid no attention to the crowd's protests. And, in her haze, she made a full circle which ended in... the man that had given her food from before.

"Where do you think you're going, girl?" he said, grabbing her brother by the arm. She tugged and pulled, but her strength was no match for the man's. And then he took her brother, bringing him to the side, and pulling out a gun.

"Let this be a warning to all!" the man shouted in her native language, "stealing is punishable by _death_!"

With that, he took his gun he kept carrying around, and shot the boy in the head. Leotie screamed, as did her kin, but next, the man pointed the gun at them, which calmed the crowd. Leotie didn't care. She ran towards the man, hitting him, biting him, and clawing at his face. Tears rolled down her bloodstained cheeks as she kept biting the man's arm. She sank her teeth in and didn't let go, but the man was smart. He hit her in the back of her head, and she let go, seeing stars.

He grabbed her by her hair and tossed her to the side, aiming the gun at her now.

Something stopped him from pulling the trigger. Something made him lower his gun, but she later on wished he had killed her, sent her to live with her brother and her family, but no, he scooped her up, and put her on his horse.

And then she knew. Only sixteen, Leotie had been stolen by a man twice her age, now owned by a man who had killed her brother, forced to bear his children later on. Her ferocity was overwhelmed by her dread and grief, and she fell off the horse onto her brother's dead body, weeping tears she should never have shed, grieving for the boy who shouldn't have died.

The man picked Leotie up and put her back on the horse. She glared at him with tears in her eyes, hate in her heart.

"What's your name?" he asked. She didn't respond, only glared.

She looked at the ground as the horse continued forward and the man pulled it along. This trail, this terrible, spiritless trail. Just like that, her world had been torn to shreds with the dawning of a new day. The English had conquered her land, and her relatives had been shipped off as slaves or simply thrown out. She had a new name for the trail now.

It was to be called The Trail of Tears.


	4. The Tears of Ginny Potter

Ginny stared at the window, watching the rain roll down in little droplets, hitting it with little force before racing it's fellow raindrops to the ground. Thunder rumbled, like an ominous warning of something much bigger to come.

She sighed for maybe the fiftieth time that night, asking herself the same question over and over again, droning over the same old things again and again in her mind. She closed her eyes, a tear peeping out of her eyelids. It glistened, sparkling like only a tear does. Then, shyly, it started to get bigger. After that it fell like Ginny's heart. Like the rain.

Ginny was learning that life thrusts you into things you're just not ready for, hoping you could take the heat. This time Ginny didn't think she could take it.

She put a hand on her stomach, her fingers tapping there, almost as if she was trying to make the being inside show itself in a way.

"Hey," said a voice. Ginny Potter knew that voice. She knew it up and down, over and sideways, and she wouldn't miss it now. She took her hand off her stomach and wiped off the tear. How could he still not know? How could he still not have figured it out?

"Harry," she said weakly, opening her eyes.

"What's wrong?" he asked. She closed her eyes again.

"Nothing."

"Come on," he said gently, "I know that face."

Her gaze hardened, and she quickly turned away, watching the rain, another tear suddenly starting to make an appearance.

_You don't know anything. _

"What is it?" Harry sat down facing opposite Ginny, taking her hand into his. She said nothing, only watching the rain sadly. He sighed and got up again, giving up on trying to get her to talk to him once more.

He had been trying to get her to talk to him for a while, and Ginny was officially drained.

The thing was Ginny wanted Harry to find out on his own. Not because she wanted him to notice her, but because he could be so stupid sometimes. Only Ron was supposed to be that thick. Maybe he'd find out when her stomach was blowing up like a balloon. He was under the impression that she was sick. Well, she couldn't blame him for thinking that. She was, after all, throwing up quite a lot. She sighed yet again.

She wished he'd just... figure it out.

Having children... was she really ready for that? Was she really ready to care for another living being?

She guessed she'd have to be.

She got up from her chair, sighing as she did, and then... she looked down.

Blood had pooled in her wooden seat. Her eyes widened and she dashed straight for the bathroom, not caring who or what was in her way.

**o.O.o**

"Harry," a voice said softly into the room, "Harry, I'm sorry I-"

Harry immediately stood up and walked over to Ginny.

"Ginny... I know you've been sick, bu-"

"Stop. I haven't been sick. I was pregnant."

Harry's eyes widened in shock.

"What...?! Was?!"

"Yeah... I-" Ginny's eyes watered, and a drop fell, "I... I lost it."

Almost a second after she said that, warm arms wrapped around her, and she wept for the first time in forever. She felt so... alone that entire time that her very existence felt strained with the weight of it all. And now she felt... empty.

She sobbed and wrapped her arms around the kind being that was holding her, and they both wept, Ginny probably more so.

"It's okay, we could always try again in maybe a year or so," Harry said supportively. Ginny weakly nodded.

"Don't go into the bathroom for a long time," she said. Harry laughed a bit, and Ginny sadly smiled into Harry's shirt.

"Why didn't you tell me to begin with?" Harry asked, drawing back to look at Ginny's face.

"I was mad you never noticed. You can be as thick as Ron, you know that?"

"Well I've never really witnessed pregnancy knowingly to be fair," Harry said, his green eyes boring into her soul.

Ginny melted and walked over to the couch to sit down, and Harry came with her.

"Are you tired?"

"I just had a miscarriage! What do _you _think?" she laughed, a single tear trailing down her cheek. Harry kissed to top of her head.

"I'm sorry."

**o.O.o**

Two Years Later

**o.O.o**

Ginny Potter was experiencing for the first time in her life... childbirth. She was also pretty sure she hated childbirth, but she was too drugged to think clearly. She faintly heard someone telling her it was going to be okay, but she wasn't exactly paying attention. She was focusing on the thing that was ripping her body to shreds, what was scaring her to the point of torture.

And it was something that was once resting peacefully in her womb to something that could tear her body to shreds in an instant. She clenched her fists to the point her knuckles were white. Oh she could kill Harry for doing this to her.

She squeezed her eyes shut.

"That's it, push. Soon it will all be over and you can do whatever you want."

And Ginny did. She tried and tried for what seemed like infinity. And then... It was over. Ginny then passed out.

When she awoke, it was maybe an hour later.

"Harry. Let... let me see him," Ginny said weakly. She felt his presence. She heard the faint sound of footsteps.

"He's beautiful," a voice told her. She couldn't clearly see. One eye was half open.

And then they finally handed her their baby, and then she could see. Only then could she really see. And what she saw was stunning. She could finally actually see him.

"Hi, James," a tear fell down her face, and she smiled. Harry put a hand on her shoulder.

"Hi, Mommy," he said. She cried again.

"Hi, Daddy."

At that moment, there was no person happier on earth than Ginny.


End file.
